


Lions . . . and Tigers . . . Zebras, Oh My

by JJJunky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:04:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJJunky/pseuds/JJJunky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys get some outside help on a haunted train job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lions . . . and Tigers . . . Zebras, Oh My

Lions … and Tigers… and Zebras, Oh My  
By JJJunky

 

The bathroom door opened, its hinges screeching loud enough to be heard above the asthmatic heater belching lukewarm air into the small motel room. Steam rolled out, partially obscuring the figure standing in the doorway. Sam Winchester looked up from the laptop to see his brother emerge from the cloud. A frown briefly creased Sam’s brow. Despite what should have been a refreshing shower, Dean looked as tired now as when he had gone to bed the night before.

They had less than two months left before Dean would go to hell. More specifically, fifty-three days. And they were no closer to finding a way to save him than when the deal was first made. The toll of the last ten months was beginning to tell. Sam doubted Dean had gotten a full night’s sleep in over a week.

Sam looked away, determinedly focusing on the information displayed on the computer screen. The sight of his brother made him feel helpless – and angry. Dean was trying to hide his fear, but either he wasn’t doing a very good job anymore, or Sam knew him too well.

One hand holding the towel around his waist, Dean used the other to scoop up a pile of clothes lying on his bed. “Guess I need these, unless,” Dean bounced his eyebrows, “you’d rather I go commando?”

Sam knew he was being baited. He didn’t care. He could act indignant if that’s what Dean needed from him. Covering his eyes with one hand, Sam groaned, “Do you want me to go blind?”

Peeking down the front of his towel, Dean nodded. “I guess I am too awesome for other men to compete.”

“Totally,” Sam sarcastically agreed.

With a smug grin, Dean walked back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The encounter added an additional concern to an already long list. Dean had lost a considerable amount of weight, pounds he didn’t need to lose. Looking down at the Danish he had gotten from the vending machine, Sam realized a lot of his meals recently had come from the same source. Whenever he could, Dean avoided diners, saying he had already eaten or wasn’t hungry. The former had obviously been a lie.

The bathroom door swung open again. This time when Dean appeared, he was draped in his usual layers, a Henley, a flannel shirt, and a jacket – the culprits responsible for disguising the weight loss.

“Find a job?” Dean tossed the t-shirt and sweats he had slept in into his duffle. Adding his toiletry bag, he zipped it closed.

“I think so,” Sam reluctantly admitted. He wanted to save innocent lives as badly as his brother, but right now, Sam would rather concentrate all their efforts into saving just one life: Dean’s.

Crossing to the empty chair on the other side of the table, Dean sat down. “Let’s hear it.”

Sam wished there was a way to refuse the request without starting an argument. Something they had been doing too much of lately-enough to make Sam fearful this was how he would remember his last days with his brother.

“Sam?”

Mentally shaking himself, Sam said, “According to a newspaper report, a woman was walking her dog on The Cowboy Trail –“

“The what?” Dean leaned forward, trying to see the laptop’s screen.

“The Cowboy Trail is a rail trail in northern Nebraska –“

“What’s a rail trail?”

Suppressing a sigh of irritation, Sam explained, “Rails to Trails is an organization that buys the land corridors of abandoned railroad tracks. They tear up the tracks and lay down limestone or asphalt to make trails for hiking, biking, and horseback riding.”

“Whatever floats your boat.” Dean sat back in his chair. “So, what happened to this lady?”

“She was almost trampled –“

“You did say the trails are used for horseback riding.”

There was a familiar gleam in Dean’s eyes, telling Sam the frequent interruptions were on purpose, and that his brother was finding it highly amusing. Sometimes being a little brother took more patience than most people realized. Looking away, Sam counted to ten before quickly finishing, “She said she was run down by a zebra. The way she described it,” he recited, “it seemed to appear out of nowhere and disappear into thin air.”

“Didn’t see that coming.” Dean scratched his head. “I don’t suppose a zebra escaped from the zoo?”

“If it did, it took a lion and a bear with it.”

“Not what I would call compatible traveling companions.”

“Since that first attack, two men have died. One was mauled from what the ME concluded was a lion. The second was clawed to death and they found black fur-”

“Belonging to a bear,” supplied Dean. “I don’t suppose you have a theory?”

“I do, actually.” Sam turned the laptop so Dean could see the screen better. “Details are sketchy, but apparently a small circus train crashed in the area sometime just after WWII.”

“I’m thinking a zebra, a lion, and a bear were among the casualties.”

“Compared to what was going on in the rest of the world, a train wreck wouldn’t be very newsworthy, which is why we don’t have much to go on.”

“Sounds like a job to me.” Dean rose. “Let’s get going.”

“What about breakfast?”

“We’ll stop somewhere along the way.”

Slowly following his brother’s lead, Sam turned off his computer and slipped it into its bag. He knew they wouldn’t stop – except to feed the Impala. Sam wished Dean would take care of himself with the same diligence he took care of his “baby.”

 

 

A sense of relief almost taking his legs out from under him, Bobby Singer unsteadily carried the book he had found to the counter and pulled out his wallet.

The bookstore clerk opened the cover of the old book, finding the price penciled lightly onto the upper right corner of the first page. “That’ll be one hundred and thirty dollars.”

The euphoria that had a hold of Bobby made him barely notice the steep price. Sliding out a credit card, he handed it over without hesitation.

Once the transaction was completed, the clerk slipped the book into a plastic bag and handed it to Bobby.

He wrapped his arms protectively around the large volume. Wincing at the callous treatment of the antique, he walked out of the store and crossed to his rusty Chevette.

With a cautious glance around, he slid behind the wheel and locked his doors before taking the book out of the bag. Absently throwing the plastic into the backseat, he carefully laid the tome on the steering wheel and opened it to the page he had found in the store.

In the relative safety of his car, he re-read every word of the protection spell. As soon as he was finished, he read it again and then a third time. He didn’t want to get Sam’s and Dean’s hopes up only to dash them because he’d translated a word incorrectly. That would be cruel.

Finally certain he had found a way to save Dean from Hell, Bobby took out his cell phone. Noting the time was close to two in the afternoon, he realized that, depending on which time zone they were in, the boys might still be sleeping or driving to a new job. Either way, it was probably safer to call Sam’s number.

Their desire to vanquish evil had built a bond between Bobby and Dean when the boy was barely old enough to read. The passing years had strengthened the relationship, even during those times when Bobby would rather shoot John Winchester than speak to him. His rage had never included Dean.

However, Bobby hadn’t felt the same connection with Sam – until these last ten months. When Sam was a little boy and still didn’t know monsters were real, they’d had a mutual interest in books. Things changed in those teen-age years when Sam had rebelled against his father, his anger often spilling over to include anyone associated with hunting. Bobby’s feelings for the boy hadn’t changed, he simply decided to keep his distance until Sam needed his Uncle Bobby again. Now they were working toward the same goal, and Bobby had learned to appreciate qualities other than Sam’s other qualities. The boy’s tenaciousness and optimism had driven Bobby, making him look for a way out of Dean’s crossroads deal when he felt like giving up in despair.

Pressing the second button to speed dial Sam, Bobby waited, hoping he wouldn’t have to leave a voice mail message. The call was answered on the third ring.

 _“Hey, Bobby.”_ Sam’s voice came over the line.

The noise of the Impala’s muffler was clearly audible, telling Bobby they were in the car. But he would have known Dean was present by Sam’s greeting. If the boy had been alone, he would have immediately asked if Bobby had found anything to save his brother. He couldn’t be as open with an audience. “Where are you boys headed?”

 _“Valentine, Nebraska.”_

 __“What’ve you got?”

 _“The spirits of dead circus animals are killing people on an exercise trail.”_

 __Bobby had heard – and seen – a lot of strange things in his years as a hunter, but he had to admit this one ranked near the top of his personal list of _Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction._ “How long before you reach Valentine?”

Muffled voices told Bobby that Sam had relayed the question to his brother.

 _“We should be there in a couple of hours.”_

 __“I’m on my way to meet you. I’ll call when I get close to town to find out where you’re staying.”

 _“All right. See you soon.”_

 __The hesitation before Sam responded spoke volumes to Bobby. He knew the boy wanted to know why Bobby was coming. But during the short conversation, Bobby had realized he needed to talk to Dean first. He wanted to save Dean’s life, not destroy the brothers’ relationship. The latter was a real possibility if Dean decided the spell was too risky. Dean would never take a chance with Sam’s life even to save his own. He had already proven that.

Slipping his phone back into his coat pocket, Bobby gently laid the book on the passenger seat. If it had been possible, he would have fastened the seatbelt around it. Opening the glove compartment, he took out a map and looked for the fastest route to Valentine, Nebraska.

 

 

“American’s Heart City,” Dean read, pulling the car off to the side of the road, contemplating the welcome sign with disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What do you expect from a city named Valentine?”

“Who names their town after a Hallmark holiday?”

“Actually,” Sam said, “it’s named for E.K. Valentine, who was a congressman.”

“I guess it could be worse,” conceded Dean. “His name could’ve been Wilbur Tampon.”

Sam put a hand over his mouth and looked away to hide his smile. Dean didn’t need any encouragement.

“Where to?” asked Dean.

“We need to find out where the animals are buried so we can salt and burn their remains.”

“Those are going to be freaking huge graves.” Dean groaned. “Let’s just hope they didn’t bury them deep.”

“I looked online, but there wasn’t any information saying what they did with the carcasses.”

“Chances are the victims were chosen because they were in close proximity to the grave sites.”

Sam nodded. “So we need to find out where the attacks took place.”

“And where’s the best place to get the information?” As Dean put the car in gear and eased back onto the road as he answered his own question, “The police.”

Even knowing Dean was right, Sam searched his encyclopedic brain for an alternative source. As far as the FBI was concerned, Sam and Dean Winchester were dead, which meant they were no longer on the Most Wanted list. However, it didn’t mean they were completely in the clear. All it took was one officer with an exceptional memory, and the Winchester brothers would be back on the radar.

When Dean pulled into a parking space near their destination, the Valentine Municipal Police Station, Sam saw the building also housed the Cherry County Sheriff’s department, making it doubly dangerous. Sam had still not formulated an alternative plan for getting the information they needed, only a slightly modified one that was sure to raise Dean’s ire from zero to sixty in two seconds flat. Even this prospect couldn’t deter Sam. Turning in his seat, he said, “You stay here. I think it’s safer if I go in alone.”

“Safer how?” Dean glared at his brother. “Seems to me you’re the FBI’s bitch as much as I am.”

Knowing the argument was valid, Sam pointed out, “Your poster was up longer. Besides, you’re more distinctive.”

“I’m distinctive, Sasquatch?”

“Humor me, all right?”

Dean gave a reluctant nod before slouching in his seat and laying his head back.

Surprised by his brother’s submission, Sam quickly climbed out of the car and walked toward the government building before the real Dean Winchester reappeared and decided to accompany him. As he walked, he mentally wrote a to-do list in his mind. At the top was: throw holy water on Dean as soon as he got back to the car.

Even though his mind was focused on his brother, Sam’s eyes scanned the area, searching the faces of the people he passed, ready to flee at the first sign of recognition. As he entered the police station, he tried to swallow his nervousness and straightened his shirt and jacket. He wished he’d had time to change into his suit, but he hadn’t dared linger. A lifetime of living in each other’s pockets meant he knew his brother well. Given more time to think about it, Dean would have insisted on accompanying him.

Throwing back his shoulders, Sam entered the office of the local police. He was relieved to see the room was mostly empty. The only occupants were a young girl sitting at a desk near the counter and an old man looking at a map tacked to the wall. A quick glance at the clock showed it was twenty after five. For the few who were still on duty, it was dinner time.

Glad he’d had the foresight to prepare for this scenario, Sam pulled an ID from his pocket and flashed it at the young officer. “Good afternoon. I’m James Page with the Transportation Safety Board.”

“How can I help you?” The young woman rose from behind her desk and crossed to the counter.

“We received a sketchy account concerning some recent attacks on The Cowboy Trail. I’ve been sent to investigate.”

“Why –“

“Officer Reed,” Sam read the name tag on her uniform, “I’ll need a copy of the reports for each of the incidents.”

“Well, I don’t –“ Reed looked helplessly back at the empty office in the corner of the large room.

Using the smile that usually got him what he wanted, Sam said, “Could you please hurry? I’m due to be in Sioux Falls by nine o’clock.”

“Let me call –“

Sam’s heart started to sink when she reached for her phone.

“It’s all right, Sandy.” The older man turned away from the map. “Make the copies for him.”

“Are you sure, Jack?”

Jack nodded. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

When the young officer grabbed a couple of file folders and crossed to the Xerox machine, Sam used the time to surreptitiously study his rescuer. Though obviously in his twilight years, Jack stood straight with only a slight stoop to his shoulders, making him a few inches taller than Dean. His thick white hair gave him a distinguished appearance. Looking into the intelligent eyes, Sam felt nervous. He could swear Jack knew he was lying.

“Here you are, Mr. Page.”

Embarrassed that he had been caught in his scrutiny, Sam quickly took the folder Officer Reed held out to him. “Thank you.”

“If there’s anything more we can do to stop these attacks, please let us know.” There were tears in Reed’s eyes as she continued, “Michael Worth was my sister’s fiancé.”

Remembering that Worth had been the lion’s victim, Sam winced. “We’ll do our best. I’ll let you know what we find.”

He wouldn’t, of course. No one would believe it if he told them the assaults had been made by the ghosts of dead circus animals. They would simply have to be satisfied when the incidents stopped.

Offering another quick smile, Sam put the file under his arm and crossed to the door. With each step, he expected to be called back and incarcerated for impersonating a federal official. He didn’t take a deep breath until he was outside and in sight of the Impala. If the distance had been much farther he would have come close to hyperventilating. These cons were more Dean’s kind of thing. He seemed to love play acting, especially if he felt he was sticking it to the bureaucracy. Sam only did it out of necessity. Ironically, he had gone to school in hopes of becoming one of those pen pushers Dean found so abhorrent, but it was also why Sam was so much better at impersonating one.

Once inside the car, he closed his eyes, taking a few minutes to allow his nerves to stop jangling. He didn’t protest when Dean took the file from under his arm.

“Good job, Sammy.”

His brother’s praise filled Sam with pride. Such sentiments weren’t often bestowed in the Winchester family, making them all the more momentous.

“Let’s see what we got.” Dean opened the folder and started reading the top page.

“Don’t you think we should go somewhere safer?”

“What’s safer than in a police parking lot?”

While Sam couldn’t argue with the logic when it applied to normal people, as far as the Winchesters were concerned, it was just asking for trouble. He opened his mouth to present his argument when a figure passing by Dean’s window made him grab his brother’s arm. Before he could voice a warning, Jack, the older man he had seen in the police station, was opening the back door and sliding onto the seat.

“What the f –“ Dean angrily pulled his arm free and turned on their unexpected passenger.

“Watch the language, young man,” interrupted Jack.

The man spoke in a tone of voice that reminded Sam of John Winchester. Like their father, this man had obviously been in the military or something similar. A possibility that filled Sam with dread.

“Who are you, never mind, don’t care, get OUT of my car, now.” Dean sputtered, obviously biting his tongue to comply with the command.

Jack smiled. “I’m here to help you.”

“Help us how?” demanded Dean.

“I saw your friend in the police station.”

Dean glared at his brother. “Sam?”

“He helped me get the copies of those reports,” Sam reluctantly admitted, indicating the folder in Dean’s hand.

“As I said,” repeated Jack, “I want to help.”

“What exactly do you think you’re helping us with?” asked Dean.

“Stopping the attacks on The Cowboy Trail.”

Calming, Dean shook his head. “We appreciate the offer, but I don’t think you understand what we’re up against, sir.”

“The name’s Jack Sanderson.” Jack leaned forward and held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Dean shook hands with a marked reluctance. “I’m Dean and this is my brother –“

Sam cleared his throat to remind Dean that he had used an alias to get the copies of the reports.

“Sam Winchester,” finished Jack, a slight smile on his lips. “I know who you boys are. I also know you’re supposed to be dead, according to the last report we received from the FBI.”

Slumping in his seat, Sam could almost feel the handcuffs around his wrists. He just hoped they weren’t as paranoid in Nebraska as Henricksen had been in Colorado and would forego the ankle chains.

“I’m glad to see the FBI was wrong.” Jack’s smile broadened. “Of course, it always makes me happy when the feebees screw up. It’s just too bad I can’t rub their nose in it this time.”

A quick look at Dean’s face showed that Sam his brother were experiencing the same shock. “You know about us?” Sam whispered.

“I research before I let a man’s face go up on the bulletin board. I didn’t want to be responsible for the death of an innocent man.”

Sitting up straighter in his seat, Dean demanded, “Who are you?”

“I used to be the Cherry County sheriff.”

Dean collapsed against the car door. “We’re so screwed.”

“I said I want to help,” Jack sternly repeated. “I can’t help you if you’re in jail.”

Puzzled, but trusting the sincerity he saw on the lined face, Sam pressed, “How can you help?”

“I know where the animals are buried.”

“Why do you think that will help us?”

“The only reason you could have needed a copy of those reports is to find the locations of the attacks. All the other information was in the newspaper.”

“Okay.” Dean regarded the older man. “Let’s say we did want to know where the attacks occurred, how does that lead you to think we need to know where the animals are buried?”

Jack sat back against the cushion. “When I was about ten, my father was the sheriff—“

“Family business?” said Dean.

Wondering if Dean just couldn’t help himself or was deliberately trying to antagonize the older man, Sam glared as his brother, wordlessly demanding patience.

Ignoring the interruption, Jack continued, “One night, he got word a small circus train had derailed. The only car that was badly damaged was the one carrying the wild animals.”

“A zebra, a lion, and a bear,” supplied Sam.

“There were a few others, but those animals were the only casualties. My father didn’t know when he was contacted that there had been deaths, so he let me tag along. The animals were too heavy to move far, so they were covered with tarps, lime, and dirt, and buried at the edge of the tracks.”

Hoping he wasn’t being led to a false conclusion, Sam asked, “And you think these dead animals have something to do with the attacks?”

“It’s a bit too much of a coincidence to think anything else.”

“If you know they’re responsible, why haven’t you done something about it?” demanded Dean.

“I didn’t know what to do.” Jack frowned, rubbing his face with his hand. “I spent my entire working life as a peace officer, but this has me completely baffled.”

Somehow feeling they could trust the older man, Sam said, “If you can show us where the graves are, we can stop the attacks.”

“Sam,” Dean growled.

“I thought you might be able to.” Jack slapped Sam on the shoulder.

“We need to wait for nightfall,” explained Sam, ignoring his brother’s angry gaze. “People tend to call the police when they see graves being dug up.”

“Not something you have to worry about this time.”

Dean huffed, “Why?”

“Three reasons,” said Jack. “First, no one else knows the animals are buried out there. Second, everyone’s too afraid to use that section of the trail right now. Third, and most important, you have me.”

“You got contacts?”

“My son’s the current sheriff. How’s that for contacts?”

“Pretty awesome.” Dean grinned before turning around and starting the car.

Dean’s obvious acceptance of the older man allowed Sam to relax. For once it looked like they had found a job that wouldn’t require them to jump through hoops.

 

 

The sun slipped below the horizon. Bobby turned on his headlights so his car could be easily seen in the growing gloom. The right beam spotlighted the white florescent letters on a green sign, informing him he was seventy miles from Valentine. Though he was still more than an hour away, Bobby took out his cell phone and pressed the button that would connect him with Sam.

 _“Hey, Bobby, are you here?”_

 __The boy sounded winded, bringing a frown to Bobby’s face. “I’m still a couple hours out,” he said. “Where should I meet you?”

 _“We haven’t gotten a motel room, yet. Why don’t you meet us out here? We could use some more fire power.”_

 __“Where’s here?”

 _We’re on The Cowboy Trail.”_

 __Bobby rolled his eyes and put as much sarcasm as possible into his reply. “Well, you should be easy enough to find. The trail’s only some two hundred miles long.”

Obviously getting the point, Sam said, _“Hang on.”_

 __A voice Bobby had never heard before came on the line. It was a man, speaking with a quiver that made Bobby think he was elderly. But that was as much as he could tell. He would have to wait to find out who the stranger was, why he was helping the Winchesters, and, most importantly, whether he could be trusted.

 _“What road are you on?”_ the stranger asked.

“Twelve, heading west,” Bobby succinctly replied.

 _“Okay, this is what you do . . .”_

 __Bobby listened to the directions, memorizing them easily. The life and death necessity of knowing exorcisms by heart had given him a good memory. It wasn’t as good as Sam’s, but it was a close second.

When he was finished, the stranger didn’t say good-bye; he merely handed the phone back to its owner. As Bobby discovered when Sam came back on the line.

 _“So, we’ll see you in a couple of hours.”_

The call ended before Bobby could confirm his arrival. More than a little worried, he pressed down on the gas pedal, knowing he was inviting a speeding ticket but willing to take the chance. Sam’s voice had sounded breathless as though he had been working hard which was exactly what he would be doing if he was digging a grave. There was nothing in his tone or words to indicate the boys were in trouble. But, what else was he supposed to think? Dean in particular didn’t trust strangers easily. Why was this man an exception? The more questions that filtered through his mind, the heavier Bobby’s foot became.

 

 

Throwing dirt on top of the shovel full Dean had just deposited, Sam paused and scrubbed the sweat from his brow with his shirt sleeve, wishing he could do the same with the rivulets trickling down his back. It was only a few degrees above freezing, but it hadn’t prevented him from discarding his jacket soon after they had started digging the first grave. Dirt had made its way down his collar. Mixing with the perspiration, it had formed pockets of mud, making his skin itch. Now, halfway through the second grave, he was tempted to take off his flannel shirt. But he knew it wasn’t a smart thing to do in these temperatures.

He was glad it was a cool spring. As Dean had predicted, the graves were more than twice the size of a human’s. When they were done, Sam pledged he would find a motel with lots of hot water so he could soak his aching muscles.

Even as he bent, putting a foot on the top of the shovel to push it deep into the soil, he kept a wary eye on the surrounding area. Flashlights and an almost full moon would hopefully make it possible to see the ghostly animals before they were dangerously close. The one drawback was that Jack only had one set of eyes. The older man was standing guard with a shotgun filled with rock salt. However, despite his marksmanship abilities, he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head.

They had been disappointed when they discovered the first grave belonged to the zebra. Of the three wild animals, it was the least dangerous. Dousing the tarp covering the remains with salt and gas, Dean had set a book of matches blazing. Using it to light another book, he tossed the two torches on opposite ends of the shallow hole. The lime that had kept the corpses from becoming a meal for scavengers had long since settled into clumps due to moisture, causing no danger to the three men.

They didn’t watch to make sure they were successful before starting on the second grave. Each of the animals had made several appearances already, enough to make Sam worry about running out of ammunition.

The sound of the shotgun firing echoed through the night air. Sam looked up in time to see the figure of the lion dissipate as the salt struck it.

Putting his flashlight in his mouth, Jack quickly chambered two more rounds into the weapon Dean had given him. To Sam’s amazement the man seemed to be enjoying himself. He had to admit, this was probably more action than Jack had seen in all his years as sheriff of Valentine. Sam doubted the town was a hotbed of crime.

Sam pitched the last shovel full on the pile and climbed out to stand beside Dean as he covered the tarp with salt and kerosene. By the time his brother had finished, Sam already had a book of matches burning. He tossed it into the pit. Flames shot up, briefly turning the night as bright as day. Sam quickly looked away, knowing how perilous it would be to lose his night vision. When he saw Jack watching the fire, he quickly picked up the shotgun he had kept close while he dug.

The bear appeared behind Jack. Walking on all four legs, it rose to tower above its victim. Sam shifted to get a good angle and fired.

Jack instinctively ducked and spun around. “Shit!” He gasped as the bear dissolved.

“You can’t let yourself get distracted,” Dean quietly warned, picking up his shovel with his left hand. The shotgun in his right was leveled and aimed into the darkness.

“Thanks, Sam.” Jack nervously wiped the sweat from his hands on his blue jeans.

Sam simply nodded and retrieved his own shovel. Nothing else needed to be said. It was obvious Jack had learned his lesson and no one had gotten hurt.

The third grave took a little longer to uncover. Sam couldn’t remember ever digging three graves in one night, all the while under constant attack. It was wearing, both physically and mentally. Every shovel felt like it weighed fifty pounds to Sam’s weary muscles. While Dean hadn’t uttered a word of complaint, Sam could see his brother was feeling the strain as well. The effect of his weight loss was more obvious than ever. Dean was stopping more frequently to fill his lungs with raggedy breaths. Each one made Sam wince and long to offer to finish the grave by himself. But he wouldn’t insult his brother by suggesting it, especially in the presence of a stranger.

They were almost done and Sam had released a sigh of relief when he heard Jack yell.

“Dean, look out.”

All of his fatigue disappeared as adrenaline surged through him. Sam looked up to see the bear appear behind Dean, using his brother as cover. If Jack fired, he would hit Dean. Sam dropped his shovel and dove for his shotgun, knowing he would be too late.

Dean had turned before the warning shout completely left Jack’s lips. He stumbled back, waving his shovel but the steel passed ineffectually through the apparition. A deadly claw swiped a path across Dean’s chest.

A yell rose up in Sam’s throat, escaping as Dean collapsed. With deadly accuracy, Sam fired his shotgun. The bear quickly disappeared, but it had already done its damage.

Keeping a firm grip on his weapon, Sam rushed to his brother’s side. “Dean!”

Dean groaned. His dirty hands tried to staunch the blood flowing from the gash running from his left shoulder to his right hip. “I’m g-good, Sammy.”

“Yeah.” Sam pushed his brother’s hands away, trying to inspect the damage in the light of the flashlight still lying on the grass at the edge of the grave. “I can see that.”

Grimacing, Dean said, “Help me over to that tree.”

“Why?” Even as he challenged the order, Sam automatically put a hand under Dean’s arm and helped him to his feet. When Jack crossed to lend assistance, Sam waved him away with the hand holding the shotgun. “Keep your eyes open for the bear.”

Reluctantly backing away, Jack agreed. “Let me know if you need an extra shoulder to lean on.”

Sam appreciated the offer, but it had been almost ten years since he had needed help lifting his brother. Once he had learned to use his height to his advantage, the only time he couldn’t carry Dean was when his brother wouldn’t let him.

As soon as he had Dean resting against a tree trunk, Sam checked the shallow wound before retrieving their coats, a flashlight, and Dean’s shotgun. The latter because he knew how his brother would obsess over the weapon being left to lay in the dirt. The fabric of his coat was too thick to make an effective bandage, but Sam hoped it would staunch the flow of blood long enough to get Dean to a hospital. It was a relief to know he wouldn’t have to stitch the ugly wound himself, all the while wondering if there was internal damage or that infection might set in. They could leave the explanations to Jack. “I can’t take care of this here, we need-”

“Finish the job, Sammy.” Dean interrupted, pushing Sam’s hovering hands away.

“What?” Sam looked from his brother’s pain-wracked face to the partially dug grave. “We have to get you to a hospital. Then I’ll come back and salt and burn the carcass.”

“It’s almost done. It won’t take you long.”

“Which means it can wait. Bobby should be here soon-”

“What if someone decides to go for a run or wants to walk their dog?”

“This time of night?” Sam knew there wasn’t much danger to civilians if he left the job unfinished, however, he also knew his brother. It would be faster to finish the job than to continue arguing. Putting the flashlight in Dean’s left hand, Sam wrapped the alarmingly cold fingers of Dean’s right around the shotgun. “I won’t be long.”

“I know,” whispered Dean.

The raspy sound filled Sam with an energy he hadn’t felt even when they were excavating the first grave. He would finish this dig in record time.

 

 

The flashlight beam played along the crushed limestone trail. Remembering what Sam had told him about their job, Bobby kept his shotgun ready. He had lasted longer than most hunters because he had always believed the old adage that it was better to be safe than sorry.

Flames seemingly erupted out of the ground, shooting toward the sky. Most people would have been frightened by the sight and run as fast as they could in the opposite direction. Bobby simply smiled with satisfaction, all the while maintaining his vigilance. There appeared to be three fires blazing which would mean Dean and Sam had found the animals’ graves. Taking nothing for granted, Bobby didn’t drop his guard. He waited to be sure.

As he drew closer, he saw three flashlights off to the side of the trail near the trees. Two were bobbing, obviously in motion, while the third was stationary. Puzzled, but not overly concerned, Bobby headed toward the lights.

When he was close enough to recognize Sam’s silhouette, he opened his mouth to reveal his presence. The words locked in his throat when a lion suddenly appeared behind the younger Winchester. The feline pounced, driving the boy to the ground. Hoping the flashlights pinpointed the location of the other two men, Bobby fired his shotgun, knowing the others shouldn’t be in his line of fire.

“Sammy!” Dean’s frantic voice echoed out of the darkness. “Sammy!”

“I’m all right.” A groan made a lie of Sam’s reply.

Surprised that Dean wasn’t already hovering over his brother, Bobby rushed to Sam’s side. He pulled up sharply when a shotgun aimed at his chest came into view.

“Jack, stop!” Dean quickly ordered. “That’s our friend, Bobby.”

“Sorry.” Jack lowered his weapon.

While he didn’t like the idea of picking rock salt out of his hide, Bobby did understand Jack’s reaction. It wasn’t a surprise. The Winchester boys had a way of bringing out a protective streak in people – if they hadn’t pissed them off first.

“Sam, how bad are you hurt?” asked Dean.

Bobby knelt at Sam’s side. “I’ll let you know in a moment.” Turning his attention briefly to Jack, he ordered, “Keep watch.”

Blood poured from two puncture wounds in Sam’s left shoulder. One was uncomfortably close to the spine. From the amount of blood, they appeared to be deep. Bobby took off his coat and top shirt and stared tearing the latter into strips. “Dean, give me a hand. We need to get your brother to a hospital.”

“Dean, don’t move,” growled Sam.

Surprised by the command, Bobby squinted to look past the light of the flashlight to have his fears confirmed. He couldn’t see anything, but he realized by Dean’s actions or rather by his restraint, that the boy was hurt, too. It had to be bad to keep him from Sam’s side.

Rising to his feet, Bobby turned to Jack. “Can you watch them?”

“Yes,” Jack affirmed. “We weren’t expecting an attack –“

“Well expect one now,” Bobby anxiously interrupted. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get the car so we can get these boys to a hospital.”

Bobby forced himself not to run as he retraced his steps. He couldn’t help the boys if he got hurt or killed himself, and judging by what he had seen of Jack, the older man wouldn’t be able to support the boys as far as the car.

The lion suddenly appeared in front of him. Ready for the ambush, Bobby fired. A faint outline of the animal still glowed in the light of his flashlight as he reloaded his shotgun.

It felt like it took hours, but he knew it was less than ten minutes before he reached the parking lot where they had left their cars. Wishing he had remembered to get the keys to the Impala, he angrily swore as he wasted time picking the lock and hotwiring the engine. A faint smile curved his lips as he imagined Dean’s indignation over the desecration to his “baby”. Unfortunately, using the Chevette was out of the question. It could barely hold four grown, healthy men. It would never comfortably transport two injured bodies.

Shifting into gear, Bobby drove down the trail. He could hear limestone rocks striking the undercarriage of the car. He winced at the sound. The way things were going, he would be the one who would be lucky to be alive by the end of this job. If there was anyone who would figure out a way to kill someone multiple times it was Dean. And damage to his beloved car would give him plenty of incentive.

Once he reached the area where he had left the boys, Bobby threw the gear shift into Park and grabbed his shotgun before opening the door. Keeping the car at his back, he quickly circled it, opening all the doors. When he had everything ready, he crossed to Sam. “Can you walk, boy?”

“I think so.”

Bobby put a shoulder under Sam’s good arm acting as a crutch, grateful when Sam was able to keep his promise. The location of the puncture wounds so close to the spinal column made any movement dangerous. But Bobby was quite certain dragging Sam would be even worse for the injury, possibly even causing irreparable damage. The only other option was to wait until help arrived. Bobby knew they didn’t have enough ammunition for that.

Sam’s weight grew increasingly heavy as Bobby helped him circle the car to the passenger side. Once Sam was as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, Bobby closed the door, offering him a modicum of protection.

Keeping vigilant, he hurried back to where Jack hovered over a dark shape on the ground. When his flashlight beam revealed the red coating Dean’s chest, Bobby couldn’t hold back a gasp. “Dean?”

“He just lost consciousness,” offered Jack.

Dean’s wound made it impossible to use a fireman’s carry, leaving Bobby only one way to get Dean to the car-he would have to drag him. Grabbing Dean under the arms, Bobby lifted. Somehow, he managed to ignore the groan the movement elicited.

He felt salt pellets fly by his head before he heard the retort of the shotgun. He didn’t know Jack, but he had to trust the older man.

With Sam offering feeble assistance, Bobby managed to man-handle Dean onto the backseat of the Impala. Retrieving the shotgun he had left lying on the driver’s seat, Bobby armed it as he scanned the area. “Get in, Jack.”

As soon as the older man had complied with the request, Bobby climbed behind the wheel. Closing his door, he gave a soft sigh of relief and slid the gear shift into Reverse. Twisting until his right arm was resting on the back of the seat, Bobby pressed down on the gas pedal.

One goal was accomplished. Now he just had to successfully complete the next one – getting the boys safely to a hospital.

 

 

Sam carefully moved in the narrow hospital bed, trying to find a comfortable position. The pillows behind his back kept him propped on his right side for which he was grateful. He had already discovered that even after treatment the slightest touch against the deep puncture wounds brought on a pain so intense he had trouble catching his breath even with the powerful drugs in his system.

It wasn’t until the Emergency Room doctor expressed concern over the location of one of the gashes that Sam finally understood Bobby’s constant admonitions not to move. From the second he had watched Jess’ body ignite into flames on the ceiling of their apartment, Sam had been prepared to die in the war against evil. In fact, he _had_ died. What he could never accept was an injury so severe it would take him out of the fight.

Despite Bobby’s initial concern, it was discovered that the lion’s teeth had missed the spinal cord. However, the doctors had insisted on keeping Sam overnight so they could pump him full of antibiotics since they were uncertain what germs might have been transferred to the wound.

A grimace turned into a rueful smile. Sam’s first hours in the hospital were a blur, but he could remember hearing Jack try to explain what had caused the injuries to himself and Dean. It was probably the first time the ex-sheriff had been treated as though he had a few screws loose.

The door opened, allowing the muted noises from the hallway to enter the room. Sam eagerly looked up, only to be disappointed when the only ones to follow the sounds inside were Bobby and Jack. From the disgruntled expression on the old sheriff’s face, it was obvious he was still upset over the treatment he had received from his family and friends.

More worried about his brother, Sam asked, “Did you find out anything about Dean?”

“He just came out of surgery,” revealed Bobby, taking his baseball cap off and running his hand through his hair. “He’ll be in ICU for a few hours before they bring him down.”

“Surgery?” Sam was aware his voice rose on the second syllable of the word. He had thought all Dean would need was stitches and possibly a blood transfusion.

“Take it easy. He’ll be all right,” soothed Bobby. “One of the nails on the claw nicked his lung.”

Sam closed his eyes in relief. The longer Dean was gone the louder the alarms in Sam’s head had gotten as his imagination swirled around worst case scenarios.

“Like I said,” Bobby reiterated, “Dean’ll be fine. It wasn’t as bad as they expected. He’s had a blood transfusion, and like you, a broad spectrum of antibiotics, but he should be released in a couple of days.”

Despite the reassuring words, Sam knew he wouldn’t relax until he saw Dean for himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Bobby, but watching Dean fall asleep in the bed next to his was something Sam had been doing most of his life. Those first few months at Stanford it had taken hours for him to go to sleep without Dean’s comforting presence.

“What I want to know,” growled Bobby, gently slapping Sam on the side of the head, “is why you let that lion get you?”

“We thought we had taken care of it,” Sam protested.

“You obviously thought wrong.”

“We salted and burned the carcass. Either we missed something or a scavenger took some of the bones.”

Jack looked between the two men. “Would something that small keep the ghost from going on . . . going away . . . whatever ghosts do?”

“Dean and I once worked a job where a little girl’s spirit kept killing even though she had been cremated because a doll had been made using her hair. She disappeared after Dean torched the doll.”

A hand grasping for the chair behind him, Jack’s face turned deathly pale.

“Jack?” Bobby worriedly grabbed the older man’s arm and helped him to sit down. “Should I get a doctor?”

“Hair can keep a spirit alive,” whispered Jack. “So fur could as well?”

Sam started to nod his head but stopped when he felt the motion pull on his stitches. “Yes.”

“I didn’t know.” Tears clouded Jack’s bright blue eyes. “I had never seen a lion before.”

Immediately understanding what the ten-year-old Jack had done, Sam asked, “Where’s the fur now?”

“I’m not s-sure,” stuttered Jack. “It’s been so long.”

“You have to find it,” Sam gently insisted.

Wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, Jack rose. “I’ll find it. No one else is going to get hurt.”

“I’ll help you,” offered Bobby.

Sam helplessly watched them leave. When he had first returned to the road, Dean had told him they would be _saving people, hunting things._ The latter had certainly been the truth; Sam wasn’t so sure about the former. Right now, he only cared about saving one life: Dean’s.

 

 

Bobby surreptitiously watched Sam disappear down the hall leading to the cafeteria. The boy had a slight limp and was moving slowly, clear signs he was far from healed. It wasn’t the first time Bobby had seen a hospital put monetary concerns before a patient’s health. But he knew if anyone asked, Sam would say he was fine.

Bobby had waited outside the hospital room the brothers had shared up until that morning. He was tired and dirty from spending the last couple of days digging around Jack’s attic and basement. They had finally been successful in finding the small clump of matted hair in an old cigarette box. In his eagerness to destroy the memento that had been a valuable treasure in his youth, Jack had almost burned down his house. The fire department had looked at the ex-sheriff as though he was crazy when they heard the explanation. Bobby had a feeling Jack would end up in a psych ward if he didn’t stop telling the truth. This was one time when the truth would not set you free.

“It’s about time you showed up,” grumbled Dean.

Sitting on the chair still warm from Sam’s body heat, Bobby growled, “If I’d known you were expectin’ me, I would’ve shown up sooner.”

“No you wouldn’t have. Why do you think I sent Sam down to the cafeteria?”

Bobby wasn’t surprised by the boy’s perceptiveness. He was only ever surprised when other people considered Dean stupid.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Dean pushed his tray table with his half-eaten lunch away.

Frowning at the unusual behavior, Bobby took the book out of its protective case. Setting it on the side of Dean’s bed, he turned the pages until he found the one he wanted. “This is a protection spell.”

“Protection from what?” Dean warily asked, peeking at the formula.

“From everything.”

“Even a Hell Hound?”

“Even a Hell Hound,” confirmed Bobby. He could feel the beat of his heart intensify with anticipation.

“No,” Dean said easily.

Shocked, Bobby glared at the younger man. “Sam’s right. You do want to go to hell.”

“If I welsh on the deal, Sam dies. It seems to me a protection spell would be considered welshing.”

Bobby rocked back on his heels, briefly closing his eyes. The kid was right. In his excitement, he had avoided thinking about that codicil. Even as he presented it, he had known his idea would be shot down, but this was the only “out” he had been able to find, so he wasn’t willing to just let it go. “Then we throw a protection spell around Sam, too.”

“Sam’s already been dead once.”

Green eyes bore into Bobby with laser-like intensity, making him shift uneasily in his seat.

“Are you absolutely certain the spell would work on Sam?”

“No,” Bobby reluctantly admitted. “I’m not.”

Dean carefully closed the book. “Thanks for trying, Bobby.”

With a heavy heart, Bobby put the book back into its case. He didn’t need the words to know Dean wouldn’t risk his brother’s life to save his own. If Dean had done anything else, Bobby would have gone for the holy water.

 

 

Sam concentrated his flashlight beam on the trail, trusting Bobby to have his back. He was glad a low-grade fever had kept Dean in the hospital for one more night. When Sam asked his brother why Bobby had come to Valentine looking for them, his inquiry had been received with silence followed by hasty inarticulate excuses.

All of his life people had been hiding things from Sam, so he knew when he was being lied to. However, he also knew better than to push Dean on this. His brother would simply clam up. The only other option was getting Bobby alone. This proved to be more difficult than it should have been, considering Dean was confined to a hospital bed. When Sam voiced his decision to go out to The Cowboy Trail to make certain the lion’s spirit had been vanquished, both Dean and Bobby had argued that Sam shouldn’t go alone. It took every piece of acting ability Sam had picked up in his lifetime of nefarious scams to keep a smirk of satisfaction off his face. It was clear Dean couldn’t accompany Sam, which left Bobby.

His injured shoulder burning under the weight of the shotgun and the constant motion, Sam smothered a sigh of relief when he saw Bobby lower his weapon. Obviously the older man felt it was safe; the lion’s spirit was really gone this time. Sam’s left arm dropped as though it was attached to a cannon ball. A moan traveled up his throat, escaping his lips.

“Sam?”

Bobby’s concerned voice penetrated the veil of pain enveloping Sam. “I’m all right,” he automatically countered.

“Sounds like it,” Bobby groused.

Using the exchange as an opening, Sam buried his pain and asked, “Bobby, why are you here?”

“Guess I better get you to a doctor if you don’t know that.”

“I don’t mean here.” Sam indicated the trail. “And you know it.” When Bobby turned away and started walking back to the car, Sam thought he wasn’t going to get an answer to his question.

Finally, barely loud enough to be heard, Bobby said, “I found this book.”

Sam’s long legs quickly closed the distance between the two hunters. He didn’t want to miss a word of the explanation.

“It had a protection spell I thought might work for Dean.”

Hope making it difficult to speak, Sam asked, “Do you think it’s strong enough to stop a Hell Hound?”

“I do. But it doesn’t matter; Dean won’t let me try it.”

So angry he was literally seeing red, Sam snapped, “Then we don’t tell him. I’m tired of Dean saying he doesn’t mind going to hell.”

“Do you know why Dean isn’t afraid of hell?” Bobby stopped and turned to confront Sam. “It’s because he’s already been there.”

“Bobby –“

“Don’t ‘Bobby’ me.” Bobby poked Sam in the chest with his finger. “You didn’t see him. I cursed him for feeling he was less worthy, but when you were dead, he wasn’t really alive.”

His anger faltering, Sam stared into the dark night. As he focused on the beam of his flashlight, he realized he could understand Dean’s feelings all too well. More so now than he would have ten months ago. Once he had his emotions under control, he asked, “Why won’t he let you try the protection spell?”

“Because he thinks the Crossroads Demon would think he was weaseling out of his deal.”

“In which case, I die.”

“In a heartbeat.”

Sam resumed walking, his mind reviewing every possibility. “How about using the protection spell on me, too?”

“I thought of that.” Bobby sighed.

For the first time, Sam thought he looked and sounded old and tired.

“But I can’t guarantee the spell will protect you from something that already happened.”

“I died, so I could die again,” clarified Sam.

“It’s possible.”

Sam’s light flashed off metal, reflecting back into his eyes. He was both relieved and disappointed that they had reached their destination. The wounds on his back were burning, making him long for a pain pill. But he also wanted to continue the discussion, hoping something would spark an idea that would save Dean.

Opening the trunk, Sam threw his weapon and flashlight in with little regard for where they landed. Equally distracted, Bobby’s gun followed with the same abandon.

The drive back to the hospital was quiet, neither man having anything more to say, much to Sam’s disappointment. Pulling into a parking spot, Sam turned off the engine and leaned forward, resting his forehead on the steering wheel and taking the pressure off his injury. He needed a little time to collect himself before he faced Dean. Somehow, he would have to keep the conversation light and focused on the hunt. Dean would know Sam had questioned Bobby, but he wouldn’t bring it up if Sam didn’t. Knowing his temper might get the best of him, Sam wouldn’t broach the subject. They would just have to pretend Bobby had never found that book.

“I’m gonna head home,” said Bobby, opening the car door. “Tell Dean, I’ll see him later.”

Both men flinched at the choice of words. Both knowing time wasn’t on their side to fulfill the promise.

“You could tell him yourself,” Sam suggested. “Visiting hours aren’t over.”

“It’s just . . .” Bobby trailed off.

“It’s just that it’s getting close to the deadline, and you’re getting scared,” Sam finished for him.

Bobby exited the car and walked across to his own vehicle. Opening the driver’s side door, he hesitated.

The pain in his back bringing tears to his eyes, Sam limped slightly as he followed.

“I won’t give up,” pledged Bobby, avoiding Sam’s eyes.

His voice soft and gentle, Sam said, “I know.” His _me either_ hung between them.

“I’ll call ya.” Bobby climbed behind the wheel.

Sam put a hand on the door to keep it from closing and forced a smile to his lips. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Dean you broke into the Impala and hotwired her.”

“I’d appreciate that.” The older man’s smile was equally insincere.

Removing his hand, Sam lifted it and half-heartedly waved good-bye.

Ten months ago, a year seemed like a long time. Somehow those days had gone by in a flash, leaving less than two months to find a way out of Dean’s deal. They would have to be long enough because Sam wasn’t giving up.

 

 

Squinting to block the bright sunlight filtering through the solar panels above him, Sam dragged his feet as he shuffled down the hallway to his brother’s hospital room. The pain pill he had taken last night after a quick visit with Dean had pretty much worn off. He didn’t dare take another since one of the brothers had to be clear-headed enough to drive. Sam knew Dean’s medication schedule wouldn’t allow him to operate so much as a go-cart, no matter how much he protested. If they only had to travel the mile to a motel, Sam would have taken a chance. But their MO the past few years had them leaving the vicinity of a job as soon as they were physically able. Jack had taken care of the explanations and the hospital bills, but there was always a chance someone would recognize the Winchesters or consider them a bad influence on the retired sheriff. The fact that Jack’s son was the current sheriff re-enforced their decision.

Entering the hospital room, Sam hastily looked away as Dean finished dressing. He’d seen his brother’s naked body numerous times, but seeing the bandage covering the claw marks made him uncomfortable as they were an uneasy reminder of what would happen to Dean in less than two months.

“About time you got here,” Dean griped.

“The head nurse gave me a dirty look for being so early,” defended Sam.

Carefully tugging his t-shirt over his head, Dean said, “Whatever. Let’s just go.”

“Nurse Ratched said the orderly will be down with the wheelchair in a few minutes.”

“That’s crazy. The scratches are on my chest. My legs are fine.”

Having just seen the gashes Dean was referring to, Sam winced but didn’t argue. Dean always minimized his injuries. The strength of the pain killers Dean had been issued, plus his willingness to take them, was the true indicator of the severity of the wounds.

To Sam’s relief, the door opened, temporarily forestalling any further argument on the subject. When Jack slipped through the narrow gap, Sam’s relief turned to wariness. The older man’s demeanor put him on his guard.

Physically pushing the hydraulically controlled door closed behind him, Jack kept his voice low as he addressed the brothers. “I wanted to say good-bye and to thank you.”

“We couldn’t have done it without you,” conceded Dean.

Sam nodded agreement. “I don’t think we would have found those graves, and we certainly wouldn’t have known you had a hunk of the lion’s mane.”

“At least not before we were trampled or clawed to death,” Dean ruefully noted.

Blushing, Jack stuttered, “That’s why I followed in my father’s footsteps. I wanted to help people, save lives. But I never really got a chance to do more than issue tickets, break up bar fights, and act as a mediator for squabbling couples.”

Not for the first time, Sam realized not everyone aspired to have a normal life. Even the numerous injuries couldn’t take away the satisfaction he got from saving people.

“I admit, I would rather have dealt with live criminals, but I got to do something I’ve always wanted to do. I made a difference in people’s lives.”

“Is that what you told your son?” asked Sam.

Jack nodded. “I think it’s the only reason he hasn’t put me in the loony bin.”

“Which is why,” said Dean, “we don’t tell people what we do.”

“I had to sneak away to see you.” Jack sighed with exasperation.

Carefully easing himself off the bed and onto his feet, Dean held out his hand. “I’m glad you did, so we could thank you for your help and for taking care of the bills.” His free hand waved around, indicating the hospital room.

“It’s the least I could do.” Jack shook hands with both brothers. “Besides, I didn’t want you boys to get arrested for credit card fraud.”

While Dean managed to keep a look of innocence on his face, Sam knew if he were in front of a mirror his own features would show him looking as guilty as hell. An analogy that was especially unpleasant, considering the circumstances.

“At least if we have this kind of problem again,” Jack said, “I’ll know how to deal with it.”

Guilt quickly turned to fear as Sam stuttered, “N-no, n-no –“

“What my usually articulate brother is trying to say,” interrupted Dean, “is if something like this happens again you call him or Bobby.”

Sam noticed that Dean had not included himself in the list of contacts. The omission made his stomach knot into a hard ball until he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.

His voice deepening to a low growl, Dean continued, “You do not, under any circumstance, handle it by yourself.”

“You’ve seen how dangerous it can be,” pointed out Sam.

A downcast expression on his face, Jack nodded. “All right.”

Sam quickly wrote his cell phone number on a scrap of paper. He added Bobby’s home and cell numbers before defiantly adding Dean’s. His brother may not think he would be around, but Sam knew differently.

The door opened and an orderly backed in, pulling a wheelchair in with him. “Someone here checking out?”

“Yes,” Sam quickly answered,” my brother.”

“It’s all right. I don’t need a ride.” Dean waved the orderly away, walking around him to reach the door.

The orderly, arm muscles bulging out of the sleeves of his uniform, gripped Dean’s shoulder. “The only way a patient leaves this hospital is in a wheelchair or a casket.”

“I won’t be the one using the latter,” threatened Dean.

Measuring the two men, Sam decided to stay out of the argument. He was curious to see who would win, considering the orderly was handicapped by his position. To his surprise, Dean settled the disagreement – peacefully.

Dean pried the stubby fingers off his arm. “Since I don’t think either one of us wants to spend time in a hospital bed or a jail cell, I’ll take the ride.”

A triumphant grin curved the orderly’s lips.

As Dean eased himself onto the wheelchair, Jack slapped the orderly on the shoulder. “Brian, you don’t know how lucky you are. Don’t push it.”

Sam smiled as the sneer slowly disappeared. He knew what Brian had been thinking, _I got two inches and thirty pounds on this guy. It won’t be a contest._ Something about Dean or the tone of Jack’s voice when he issued the warning must have made Brian realize Dean wouldn’t have been the easy victory he had anticipated.

His demeanor markedly different, Brian put the foot rests down. “Believe me. You made the right decision. Neither of us what’s to go up against Mrs. Ragno.”

When Dean turned a puzzled glance his way, Sam mouthed, “Nurse Ratched.”

“Whatever I have to do to get out of here,” said Dean, leaning back.

Sam could tell Dean was already tired by his exertions. The drugs were probably also partially responsible, which had Sam mentally cutting the distance they would travel to half of what he had originally planned. He could always use his own injury as an excuse. After all, it wouldn’t be far from the truth.

Once they were both healed, they could return to saving lives. Sam knew whose name would top his list.


End file.
